


overwhelming

by broikawa



Series: mhq!! [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Crying, Emotional Hurt, Exhaustion, Forehead Kisses, Frustration, Gentle Kissing, Holding Hands, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neurodiversity, Overthinking, Panic Attacks, Plushies, Rain, Sakusa Kiyoomi-centric, Sensory Overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broikawa/pseuds/broikawa
Summary: sometimes things get to be a bit too muchor ;; sakusa kiyoomi projection machine
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: mhq!! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121504
Comments: 9
Kudos: 243





	overwhelming

**Author's Note:**

> CW: sakusa has a sensory overload/frustration-induced breakdown. i describe how he's feeling based on similar breakdowns i've had myself and i have details on how his sensory overload is affecting him. he also deals with some intrusive thoughts in the process. some neurodivergent symptoms/experiences aren't pretty, kids!
> 
> also ! its unspecified what omi deals with (i personally have these sorts of breakdowns due to adhd/rsd) so feel free to project/hc to your heart's content :>
> 
> my emotional state has been everywhere recently and i started writing this while coming down from a similar breakdown (then finished it after,, different breakdowns). plain old vent fic. a very good coping mechanism.

No, no, no. This was not happening.

There was no way. It was right there, the bear plush had been on the bed just a minute ago, and now it was _gone_.

Kiyoomi shoved the blankets off, his ankle getting caught in one of them for a moment. That only made everything worse, made the lowly noises in his head only grow louder, the static filling his ears. _Look, you can’t even get the blankets off_. He escaped from the covers, nearly, his feet landing careful on the floor as he examined the area. It was too cold on his feet. No bear on the bed, no bear on the floor – where could it have gone?

“Where is it,” Kiyoomi muttered to himself, looking around at the bedroom floor, “where _is it_ ?” He stood, moving around the bed to see if it had fallen off somewhere else, if it was down at the end or on the other side, maybe, but there was nothing. Nothing where he had been sat, nothing at the foot of the mattress. Nothing, nowhere, there was no bear in sight and it was really, really starting to get to him, where is it, where is it, whereisit, whereisit, _whereisit_.

He got on his knees, then, looking under the bed to see if it had rolled underneath when it’d fallen off, _if_ it’d fallen off at all, but all he could see was lost socks and extra blankets and no _goddamn_ bear. He was getting frustrated, unbelievably frustrated, the sort of frustration that made him upset himself and made him uncomfortable and made him feel like the frustration was under his skin and moving all around his body until it completely encapsulated him and made him unable to escape.

Suddenly, then, he became very aware of the crumbs on the floor pressing into his hands. He didn’t mind that they were there, usually, but now, as they pressed against his skin, he could feel every bit of contact against the cold floors – his hands, his hard knees, his single elbow he used to balance himself. It was all so much and he needed to get up right away.

His shirt rode up as he stood, falling just under his belly button, and he pulled it back down. It felt wrong. He moved it again. Still wrong. It fell in the wrong place. It felt too tight. The seams weren’t where they were supposed to be and suddenly the fabric was too rough, too thick, he needed it off _now_.

He knew what he needed – there was one shirt that always helped, no matter what. It was a pyjama shirt he’d had for years, fully worn in from all of its usage. It was big and soft and always felt right, never made him uncomfortable or constricted. Yeah… yeah. That’s what he needed. He’d find the shirt and he’d put it on and he’d feel okay again and he’d find the bear. He moved to the drawers.

It wasn’t there.

 _What the fuck_ , he thought, pushing through the other shirts, making a mess of the drawer. It wasn’t there.

No, that wasn’t right, it _had_ to be there, it was supposed to be in the drawers. His eyes moved to the laundry basket next to the drawers and he dug his hands in, desperately searching, pulling everything out and piling it on the floor.

Ah hah.

He pulled off his shirt, the rough, thick, wrong-in-every-place one he was wearing, and pulled on this one, the one that would be _right_.

His heart sank to the cold, hard floor.

There was a reason it was in the laundry basket; it had to be washed, of course, that’s why it was in there. It felt okay, but it smelled like sweat and with every other sense already completely overloaded, the only thing Kiyoomi could think to do was pull off this shirt, too, and sink down, lowering himself onto the floor and settling onto the now spilled laundry and leaning his head against the wall. 

The bedroom air was cold, too. He was too tired to care.

His hands went back and forth into fists, his arms extending and curling inwards across his chest, his eyes very quickly welling with tears. He couldn’t get his arms to sit right, nor his legs. He couldn’t breathe. He was tired, physically drained, and his lungs were acting like he’d just run 100 kilometres without stopping. His skin felt prickly. His head hurt, and it was suddenly too bright, even with the light off and the only light coming in being that of the rainy white sky outside.

That was the only thing not bothering him, the rain.

The _pat pat pat_ on roofs kept him conscious as he sat there, shivering and breathing out heavy and halfway to tears.

“Omi?” he heard outside the door, and he jumped. He knew it was Atsumu. He couldn’t pinpoint his tone.

 _What if he’s mad at me_ , he wondered, _because I made a mess. He’s probably going to say I’m overreacting. Maybe he’ll hate me. He thinks I’m a baby, I’m so needy, I ask for so much, I’m so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid_ –

The bedroom door opened.

“Omi,” Atsumu said again, “you okay? Yer makin’ a ruckus in here.” He rounded the door, finally, his eyes landing on Kiyoomi. He froze, staring down at him, mouth part way open.

Kiyoomi’s thought were still running. _Why isn’t he saying anything? He thinks I’m pathetic_ –

“ _Kiyoomi_ ,” Atsumu let out, a single breath. “What’s going on?”

He coiled.

“Can I come?” he asked, gently closing the door.

Kiyoomi kept his head down, kept his gaze away from him, but nodded. Atsumu came, as he said, walking to him gently and taking a seat on the floor next to him. He held out a hand.

“D’you want it?” he asked. Kiyoomi stared down at it like he didn’t know what it was. He took it slowly, testing the waters, letting fingers touch palms before taking it fully. Their fingers weren’t interlocked; he felt much too overwhelmed for that, but he held onto Atsumu’s fingers carefully.

“You feel like talking?” Atsumu asked him, and he nodded, tentatively. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t know,” he croaked. His throat didn’t feel good. It felt too tight. He was dehydrated. He’d ask Atsumu for some water later, if he remembered. “I’m… overwhelmed.” Carefully, he glanced up at Atsumu. His eyes were set, clearly on Kiyoomi, listening and watching with care, concern, and intent.

Kiyoomi felt… okay.

Maybe that was an overstatement, but he was feeling better than he was only a minute ago.

“Everything feels… wrong.” he told him.

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu said. Kiyoomi hated that phrase. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say after. _It’s okay_ wasn’t true enough – he wasn’t okay, and that was clear. _Thank you_ was too formal.

He settled for forcing a smile at him instead.

“Why’s all the laundry on the floor?” he asked him next.

The gaze was lost, and Kiyoomi was looking at his knees in shame again. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

Atsumu gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s okay,” he told him. “I’m not mad at you.”

“No?”

“No, I’m not mad,” he said again, offering a warm smile. “I promise.”

Kiyoomi exhaled. He was coming down, but slowly. He was still frustrated from what he could tell, but he wasn’t moving at the speed of light anymore, and he could properly think. “I was looking for a shirt,” he finally told him, holding the shirt out, “but it’s dirty.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmh.”

“How about I go do laundry,” he offered, “and you can take somethin’ of mine ‘til it’s done?”

Kiyoomi shook his head. He understood the sentiment well enough but he just wouldn’t, couldn’t, wear anything else. “I need this.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “Would ya at least be willing to wrap up in a blanket so y’stay warm?”

This, Kiyoomi agreed to.

He was always surprised how gentle Atsumu could be with him. He thought he would’ve grown used to it by now after nearly two years of being together, but he was always shocked by how soft his tone would turn at any sign from Kiyoomi of discomfort, how careful his movements would be. He was considerate, he asked questions, he _listened_. It was hard for Kiyoomi to say he’d ever had that before, especially to such an extent.

Atsumu helped him off the floor, leaving the bedroom for only a minute, returning with their softest blanket in the flat.

“Here we go,” Atsumu said, swinging the blanket around Kiyoomi’s shoulders. Kiyoomi held it tightly. “I’ll go put this in the washer,” he said next, looking at the laundry pile, “while ya settle somewhere. Bed, couch, wherever; it’s yer choice.”

Kiyoomi, though, was quiet. His gaze was still vaguely on the ground. He still felt off – maybe he just wasn’t calmed down yet, but by now he should’ve felt, at the very least, stable. Instead, he felt like something was missing.

He stepped forward and into Atsumu. He planted his face on his shoulder.

Understanding quickly, Kiyoomi felt him put his arms around him, holding on tightly and keeping him steady.

“I can’t find the bear.”

“What was that?” Atsumu asked, pulling away to look at him. He looked up, staying in his arms.

“The bear,” he said again. “I can’t find it.”

“Oh,” was all he said. “Well… I can look while I do the laundry.”

“I want it now.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

Atsumu tucked a bit of hair behind Kiyoomi’s ear. “We can both look, then. That okay?”

They looked. The bear was eventually located, a small, sweet thing of golden fur that reminded Kiyoomi of his boyfriend more than he’d ever admit. It tumbled out of the covers when Atsumu’d picked them up and shaken them out. It was now settled in Kiyoomi’s arms. Kiyoomi, then, waddled his way over to the couch with Atsumu’s assistance, the latter making sure he was comfortable and warm enough and if he was going to be all right while he popped down to the laundry room.

“I’ll be okay,” he told him, honest.

Atsumu placed a kiss to his forehead. “Okay,” he said, kissing his nose. “I’ll make ya somethin’ when I get back up, yeah?”

He gave in one last smile from the doorway before leaving, basket in hand.

Kiyoomi still felt… okay.

It was no longer an overstatement though it was still a bit away from the truth. He was still coming down. At least he didn’t want to cry anymore.

Atsumu was back faster than he’d expected, and he went to the kitchen before anything else. Kiyoomi heard the click of the kettle and the opening of the fridge. He wanted to tell him he wasn’t very hungry, his appetite disappearing after the whole debacle, but he couldn’t find his words. Luckily, Atsumu joined him in the living room, and he felt his shoulders relax.

“Feelin’ any better?” he asked, sitting next to him.

Kiyoomi leaned into his side. “A little,” he told him. There was an arm around his shoulder.

“I’m makin’ you tea,” he said. “Are ya hungry, too?”

He shook his head. “Just tea, for now.”

There was a kiss to his hair. “‘Course,” Atsumu said. He pulled away, looking at Kiyoomi’s face. It was likely flushed, and it felt distorted in his mind. He couldn’t imagine his own features. His mind was definitely still fuzzy. “I’m gonna go make it, ‘kay?”

“Mhm.”

He kissed his forehead again before getting up.

Kiyoomi hated being frustrated. It was the worst feeling in the world – the most excruciating pain he could think of. It brought him down, down, down, even on his best of days. It was exhausting.

He laid on the couch, bringing his feet up on the cushions as adjusting the pillow under his head. The clattering noises his boyfriend was making in the kitchen, the quiet hum of electricity, the _pat pat pat_ of the rain outside. Even the careful, even sound of his own breath. They all comforted him, made him feel grounded, made him feel here, and like he was alive and existed.

He didn’t feel okay yet, but at least he felt safe.

**Author's Note:**

> we all need an atsumu in these trying times TT___TT this is completely unedited if u see a mistake no u dont
> 
> follow me places !  
> [tumblr](https://etherealparrish.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/sonokeiji_)


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